You're Just Blurry
by juice pouches and rocky
Summary: She isn't sure how it happened, really. One minute they had been out for a nice evening somewhere upscale and fancy and totally unlike them, and the next minute Beca was in the back of an ambulance, holding his hand as the paramedics warned her that his final moments "could be tonight." Beca/Jesse. Incomplete.
1. Not Jesse

This is something I got into my head and once it got there, it never wanted to leave. Trust me, I tried to ignore the urge to write this. I really, _really _did. But it never went away, and I was subsequently forced to write it.

There's a little thing you need to know about me: I'm pretty bad with updating frequently. I'm going to try-I mean really try-with this fic, because it's downright cruel of me to start a fic like this and never finish it. I'm aware of that. But be patient with me, please, and know that any support you give this fic will probably help me in the long-run when it comes to finishing it and updating it and working on it.

I have some ideas as to where I want this fic to go, but enough of my rambling and carry on.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Pitch Perfect. Still.

* * *

She isn't sure how it happened, really. One minute they had been out for a nice evening somewhere upscale and fancy and totally unlike them, and the next minute she was in the back of an ambulance, holding his hand as the paramedics warned her that his final moments "could be tonight." He slipped into a coma, then. It had happened so quickly, Beca wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. For four months, she made time in her schedule for him. She sat at his bedside watching him, waiting for him. When classes were particularly dull-which, let's face it, was pretty much always-she would skip class and visit him. Talk to him. Beg him to wake up.

But nothing ever happened. The doctors told her things weren't looking well for him, but that didn't stop her. She would tell him everything. She told him about the Bellas and how they had won Regionals and were prepared to kick Treble ass at Finals. She told him how Luke had graduated early and put her in charge of the studio. She told him how she loved him, how she would always love him, how she had never thought she would ever love someone as weird and geeky as him. Sometimes, she would watch movies with him. His favorites, of course, in the off-chance that their scores would stir him from his coma. She'd seen The Breakfast Club in that small hospital room at least twenty times now, and she'd guess that she'd seen E.T. a good ten times, as well. Still, nothing happened.

"Jesse," Beca laughs brokenly, "you have to remember me."

The doctors had told her he might not, and that terrifies her.

The boy's eyes narrow, his mouth curving into a confused frown as the brunette girl grasps his hand. He looks down at it for a moment and considers pulling his hand away. He is silent for several moments, and Beca takes this silence as cause for concern.

"Jesse," she is begging him now, "Jesse, I-"

"Who are you?" he asks her, his voice sounding harsh and cold to her ears.

She pulls back, blinking rapidly as tears threaten her eyes. He stares at her as if he had never seen her before, as if their past year together never existed. All their movie nights, all their witty banter, all their inside jokes... nothing. She sighs heavily, wiping tears from her eyes as she stares at his battered body.

She would never have believed she would fall for such a weirdo, but she had. She had come to love the way he made her laugh, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. She had come to love the way he smiled at her, the way he sang, the way he told her he loved her. It was always in little ways; words were hardly used. He'd remember something she had mentioned in passing weeks ago- like how she used to love going to the zoo as a child. Weeks later, he'd show up at her door and they'd be on their way to the zoo. It was always the little things that made her love him so much, like the way his eyes brightened-more so than usual-every time he saw her, or the way he mouthed the words to his favorite movies.

She would miss that about him.

_No, Beca. No. He's not dying on you. He's not dead. He's alive. He's _going_ to live._

"It's me," she says, praying that he will suddenly remember her, "Beca."

"Beca," Jesse repeats. God, she loves to hear him say her name.

"Yeah," her smile lasts for half a second. "I, uh... I'm your... we... we were dating."

Jesse stares at her blankly, and for a moment she's afraid he thinks that she's kidding. "We... we were?"

She manages a nod and smiles sadly. It physically pains her to hear him question the existence of their relationship. He doesn't remember anything, it seemed, and it takes all of her strength to speak. Her voice is quiet as she chokes out: "You... you don't remember, do you?"

He panics. His body convulses, and nurses rush in. She is herded away from him and out of the room, and her desperate pleas are slowly silenced as strong hands grip her shoulders. Hands she knows well, and hands she doesn't want to be holding her. Not now. Now, the only person she wants to touch, to be with, is the boy lying on the hospital bed entering some state of God-knows-what. She shrugs her father away, ducking under his reach with her arms wrapped tightly across her chest. She wipes tears from her eyes and slumps down into a bench outside of his room. She hears her father settle down beside her.

He knows better than to offer physical comfort now; she's already resisted once, and she won't react kindly to a second attempt. He folds his hands together and stares at the ground, and the bench is quiet save for Beca's poor attempt at stifling her tears.

"Bec, I know it's hard… they warned you he wouldn't remember anything. You had to prepare yourself. Did you… at all?"

She ignores him. It's what she does best. He can tell that she didn't prepare herself—adequately, at least. And she hadn't. She hadn't been prepared enough to hear his voice (his sweet, angelic voice) ask her so confusedly who she was. He was always the one who knew her. He had only seen her for a brief moment that first morning at Barden, but he recognized her immediately at the radio station later that day. He had always remembered her.

And now he had forgotten.

Her father talks more. It's what _he _does best. She still ignores him, internalizing her anger as he tries to comfort her (and poorly, might she add).

He falls into silence, and she's thankful. She's thankful that she doesn't have to drown out his words with an internal monologue of her own (one that blames herself, pities herself, and frets constantly over Jesse Swanson), and she draws her knees to her chest with her feet propped strategically on the bench.

Dr. Mitchell sighs and heaves his shoulders in defeat, shaking his head as he looks at his daughter.

"You can't just sit here all day, Beca." _Yes I can, and I will_. "You've gotta get out, go to class..." _I don't have to do anything. _"He'll still be here when you get back." _No he won't. He's not here now. That's not Jesse in there. That's not my weirdo._

Once he sees that he's getting nowhere (her facial expression has become one of anger and bitterness), he stands up. She hesitates a moment before rising to her feet and giving her father a hug. He kisses her forehead and whispers an "I love you" as he heads back home.

She's alone now, and she's grateful for the silence that she's left with. She sinks into the bench, laying across it as she tries to focus on anything but the sound of the hospital's machines. She has no idea what's going on in Jesse's room; the blinds are closed and the door is shut. Nurses cast her pity glances, and she does her best not to scowl at them. They mean well, they do. But they don't know her, and they don't know Jesse. They have no right to pity her.

She's fine. Really.

Sure, her boyfriend just woke from a coma and didn't remember her, but she was fine.

She'd manage.

The door beside her opens, and she scrambles quickly to her feet. She tries to remain calm, but her eyes betray her visage. Hopeful eyes meet sympathetic, and she shifts her weight nervously.

"Well?" she prompts.

"He had a seizure," the doctor tells her, "nothing major." He goes on to tell her that his brain damage is minimal and that, given a few weeks, there is no reason that he shouldn't return to his normal routine. He reminds her that he will only be awake for minutes at a time for several days.

She asks her about his memory.

He pauses.

She ducks her head, muttering that she understands.

He tries to reassure her, tell her that things may change. She doesn't hear him. She isn't listening anymore.

She turns her head towards his room, staring at the closed blinds. The doctor motions to someone inside, and the blinds are flipped. She can see him—her perfect, wonderful Jesse Swanson, lying on that godforsaken hospital bed. She nearly falls apart there, a sob escaping her throat as she recoils.

She can't take it.

She covers her hand over her mouth and issues a meek apology. He nods sympathetically and brushes it off easily. She likes that about him. He doesn't try to comfort her; he gives her what she wants to know, and nothing more. She blinks in thanks.

He reminds her that visiting hours will soon be over, and that she should say whatever she wants to say now.

Beca steps inside the room, cautiously making her way over to his side. She reaches for his hand instantly. Her face falls as he pulls back. She hears the doctor telling her that she should expect a similar response for a few days, but she doesn't acknowledge this. She is too hurt to do anything else, and her hands return to her sides. Her chest heaves as she maintains her composure, and she can hear the nurses in the room wrestling with the idea of comforting her. She steps back, shaking her head quickly.

She can't do this.

The doctor pleads with her now and tells her that Jesse will need some time.

She can't hear him.

She turns away and flees from the room, marching down the hall with her arms crossed and her hands tucked against her rib.

She fights tears as she waits in the elevator, forcing herself to laugh to prove to the other visitors that she isn't in too much pain.

But she is. Oh, she is.

She reaches her car without crying. She climbs in without crying, and even manages to lock the door without crying.

But as she looks over at the passenger's seat—at Jesse's seat—she throws herself against the steering wheel and cries.

* * *

Reviews are much loved, and I hope to have an update later this week.

(Don't hold me to that.)

(I'm regretting saying that already.)

(You can bother me to update it by messaging me here or via Tumblr: veitengram)

Thank you for reading.

- Hannah


	2. Adrian and Rocky

A note I forgot with the last chapter: This is the first time I've written in present tense, and I'm sure I've confused a few tenses here and there. I'm aware they exist, and I'm sorry.

I was going to keep you guys waiting a while longer before posting this, but I couldn't do it.

I don't know how I like this chapter, but... here it is.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Pitch Perfect.

* * *

She avoids the hospital for the first time. It hurts her to do so, and she has to constantly remind herself that it's better this way. That he needs space, and he needs time to recover alone. She receives calls from the hospital, but she doesn't return them; they leave her messages, so she knows it's nothing she should be concerned about. They care about her; they want her to come back.

Jesse's been asking for her.

But she can't. She can't go back there, and she doesn't know why.

She immerses herself in perhaps the one thing she loves more than Jesse: music. Late nights at the studio become her new norm; she still doesn't show up regularly for her classes. People like Kimmy Jin begin to resent her for this; she's getting a free education and she's wasting it. But she doesn't care. It's her life and her choices, and if she would rather make music than make herself feel more stupid, then so be it.

She is working on the new arrangement for the Bellas' semi-finals. Somehow, she's managed to create a fresh, all-too-amazing mix of _Some Nights _(the freshman, Alex, has a voice that suits the song perfectly) and _Live While We're Young_, among others. The choreography is simple, of course—it's the finals where she plans to really shine—but still engaging. She forgets everything else and focuses on her passion.

Days pass, and days turn into weeks, and Beca still refuses to return to the hospital. She's afraid; she's learned that much. She's afraid of rejection, and she's afraid that he'll never recover. She steels herself against the one person who could always tear that wall down, and she hates herself for it. But she has no other choice because if she knows one thing, it's that she can't face him again. She can't risk hearing him ask her "Who are you?" and she can't risk hearing him tell her that he needs time alone—without her.

She loves him. She knows she does. She loves him more than she loves herself, and she hates that. She hates that she's found that person she will do anything for; that person who would do anything for her and is lying on a hospital bed because of it. She hates that she's there because of him. He doesn't remember, of course, and she can't bring herself to tell him. To tell anyone.

It's two weeks since she cried in the parking lot, and there's a knock at her door. She's working on an essay for a class she's a week behind in, but she's glad that she now has a reason to take a break. She pulls herself from her desk and shuffles towards the door, unprepared for the faces that greet her.

"Beca?"

She is able to identify them immediately: they are Jesse's parents. He shares the same grin as his father and the same kind eyes as his mother. Their resemblance unnerves her because she doesn't want to see him. She can't see him.

She knows it's rude to slam the door in their faces, so she holds it open warily. "Yes."

"We're Carol and Bill Swanson," his mother says slowly, tilting her head as if to measure her mental state. Beca shifts nervously. "Your father said we might find you here."

She still has no idea why they're here, but she opens the door a little wider. They come inside and she stacks some of Amy's strewn magazines into a nice pile on the bookshelf. She stands awkwardly before them, her head tucked against her chest as she tries to fight the urge to ignore their presence.

But then it occurs to her that it's been several days since the hospital has called her, and she hasn't checked her messages. Jesse's parents are in her room, unplanned. They were looking for her. Jesse is dead.

She is surprised to find that she's looking up and meeting their eyes, unable to breathe as her world starts to crumble.

"Oh, no, Jesse's fine," Carol corrects her quickly, and Beca breathes a sigh of relief. She nods, and Carol smiles warmly. "We're, uh… well… we want you to come back to the hospital with us. Jesse's making real progress."

She doesn't care anymore.

"I can't," she says simply, turning away from them and toying absently with the books on her bed.

"He's been saying your name."

She freezes, and the Swansons know they've touched her. She shakes her head, though, and continues reorganizing her books. "So?"

"He wants to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to him."

"Yes, you do."

She turns to face them, annoyed that they think they know what she wants.

"I don't," she repeats stubbornly.

"He needs you, Beca," his father pleads with her, and she meets his eyes. They affect her, and her gaze softens.

"No he doesn't," she answers hollowly. "I'm late for class." She's not late for class, but she'd rather be in class than having this discussion with his parents. She tries to move past them, but they don't move. "Excuse me."

"Beca," Carol says gently, taking a great risk and reaching for her shoulder. Beca lets her, oddly comforted by this gesture.

It's soothing, and Beca falls against the woman and cries. Carol holds her tightly, running a hand through her hair. Jesse's father, Bill, stands idly beside them and rocks on his heels as if he doesn't know what else to do. Beca pulls away and dries her tears. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about a thing, Beca," Carol shakes her head. "We're really thankful Jesse met you, you know. When we first pulled up to Barden and he was singing that song and making a complete _idiot _of himself," she says 'idiot' fondly, the same way Beca does when she talks about him, "I looked at Bill and I said 'he's going to have no one.' But then he found you, and we had never seen him happier."

She hates that they're saying this to her. They're guilt-tripping her, and she's falling for it. She's quiet as she finds the courage to face her fear.

"I'll go."

* * *

Jesse's progress has been "good." Whatever that means.

The doctors have been more cryptic with her now that they've learned Beca isn't family (she may have lied, and they may have been angry). They don't do anything drastic, however, because she's young and "she's in love" and he needed her.

It's her fifth visit since his parents came to her dorm (it's Friday now), and she has no regrets. Now that Jesse's parents are around, her father has been pressing her to focus more on school. But she doesn't listen. It's Jesse that she cares about, and Jesse who needs her attention. She didn't even want to be at Barden to begin with. She wanted to make music. Per her father's request, she stayed in school.

And look where it got her: in a hospital room four hours a day with the boy she had unequivocally fallen in love with. (Not that she'd ever admit this to anyone.)

Jesse smiles, and she returns it confidently. He has, in fact, been making progress. He smiles more, talks more, and begins to remember her. It's hard, at first. She's been told it always is. The first three visits, she introduced herself repeatedly. _Beca Mitchell. I'm your… we're dating_. He'd nod in understanding, but hours later, when she returned from lunch or the studio, he'd ask her again. And again, she would tell him.

It's better now, though. He remembers her name when she enters. Sort of.

"M…Mitch…"

"Mitchell," she says with a curt nod, "Beca Mitchell."

He grins foolishly, and she has to remind herself that this isn't the same Jesse that she once knew.

That grin, though beautiful and perfectly him, was also the haunting remnant of his former self. The one who actually remembered her.

She approaches his side and kisses his forehead lightly. He melts against her lips—she can feel it—and she wants nothing more than to stay there forever. She closes her eyes, her hand carding through his hair. Then she pulls back, knowing that it has already lasted a moment too long. He seems upset, as if he wanted it to last longer, and a smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

He reaches for her hand, and she lets him take it.

"How are you?" she asks.

"Better," he admits tiredly.

She can tell that he's still weak and still recovering, and she doesn't want to bother him… but she's missed this. She's missed her hand in his, and she's missed simply talking to him. She's selfish as she takes a seat at his bedside, and she's selfish as she asks him to talk to her.

He talks. She isn't sure about what, really, because his sentences are fragmented and his voice is low, but she listens to every word. She nods when he pauses, and smiles when he smiles.

And as soon as it began, it was over. The doctor comes into the room and tells her that they need to run a few tests. She grips Jesse's hand tightly, but gives the doctor a quick nod.

"You'll be back?" Jesse asks her, and she meets his eyes. This is the first request he's made of her since he woke, and she doesn't know why but it makes her beyond emotional.

"Of course I will," she responds. "I'll be back tomorrow."

She hates that she has to leave him; he's just starting to trust her again. Reluctantly, she lets go of his hand and leaves the room, watching him through the window as she walks away. His eyes follow her, and she waves as she disappears from his sight.

And suddenly, she finds herself with a renewed energy; a renewed strength.

Jesse needs her; he is depending on her, and she's not about to abandon him.

_This is my chance_, she thinks as she returns to her dorm, _this is my chance to be the kind of girl he deserves_. He's blurry now—this fuzzy outline of who he once was, but she'll fix that. She isn't going to give up on him, as she had been so close to doing just days ago because now… now he trusts her. He wants her around, and doesn't like it when she leaves. He wants to know her, and hates that he doesn't remember. He's trying, he really is, and she's going to work with him.

With time, she knows he'll come around, because he's Jesse Swanson and she's Beca Mitchell, and they're more meant to be than Adrian and Rocky.

* * *

Also, I just find it great how the first chapter was published on NYE and it was 2,013 words.

Anyway, I'm doing well with updates so far... we'll see how long I can keep it up. I've got the beginning of the third chapter pulled up now, so.

Keep the reviews coming; I love hearing from you! And if you have anything you want to see in a later chapter, let me know and I'll see if I can work it in!

- Hannah


	3. Work in Progress

Chapter three. _Boom. _I'm on a roll.

It's a bit on the short side, but it hit everything I wanted to, so without further adieu...

* * *

The Swansons invite her over for dinner, and it becomes habitual to share a meal with them every Friday evening. His older sister, Mary, is also present; she's a lot like Jesse. Maybe that's a good thing because at the moment, Beca doesn't know if she'll ever get her Jesse back. Mary's personality serves as a nice supplement.

"Everything looks great," she says enthusiastically.

"Well, it better," Carol agrees in exasperation, "I've been cooking all afternoon."

"You didn't have to—"

"Nonsense," Carol shakes her head, "you just sit there and enjoy, Beca. Don't worry; I don't mind doing it."

Beca ducks her head sheepishly. "Well, thank you."

"Of course." The table is still. "Well, go on. The food won't eat itself."

She doesn't understand how the Swansons can be so selfless. They're grieving, too—more than her, she can guess—and yet they still have the energy to care for her. They make her dinner and see that she's doing well. Sometimes, they call her just to say hi. They're entirely too kind, but that's entirely why she loves them. They're just like Jesse, and she can't get enough.

Beca uses the dinner as an opportunity to learn more about Jesse, and his family hides nothing. They are not ashamed to admit that Jesse is the baby of the family. Mary is twelve years older than him, and Jesse was the unplanned child who became smothered in love. They talk about how he was always the baby. She laughs at this, and begins to see where Jesse gets his personality. Mary is every bit as witty as he is; intelligent with her pop culture references and witty with her responses.

"I can't imagine Jesse dancing on the kitchen table in Star Wars boxers."

"It happened," Bill assures her.

Mary nods. "We have it on video."

Beca laughs and demands to see the video. They agree to show it to her some other time because Jesse would be horrified if she watched it without him.

After dinner, she returns to her dorm at Barden and pulls out her computer. She borrowed his movies from his room, and selects_ Titanic_. She instantly regrets this decision because by the end she's a complete mess. She forgot to pay attention to the score.

She misses him. She misses his hand on her knee, and she misses his goofy smile and dorky movie references. She misses the way his hand feels around hers, and she misses the way his eyes narrow in confusion (and perhaps pain) whenever she doesn't understand a Star Wars reference. Most of all, to her surprise, she misses the way he stares at her when he thinks she isn't looking. It's always the same look, as if he's never seen anyone more beautiful than her; his eyes are soft and his head is cocked to one side, and there's a small, pensive smile on his face. It makes her feel like a thousand butterflies are trapped inside her chest. She loves it.

She misses it.

* * *

"Beca!" he crows as she enters his room, and she can't help but grin maniacally. The nurses have propped him up so that he can comfortably watch TV, and he mirrors her smile as he ushers her closer.

She sidles towards him. "How ya doin', weirdo?"

"_Great_," he responds enthusiastically. "I've got nurses who come in whenever I push this little button, and there's a _Star Wars _marathon playing, and they're letting me eat more than hospital food now."

"Sounds great," she nods. Her mouth is thin; she can't tell if the old Jesse—if her Jesse—is back.

"Are you gonna watch it with me?" he asks, and she has no option but to say "yes" because he's asking her with those puppy eyes she can't refuse, and she pulls a chair up beside him with a tiny shake of her head. He senses his victory and cheers, and she rolls her eyes.

She tries to pay attention to the movie. She really does. But all she can focus on is Jesse; Jesse being the Jesse she knows, and Jesse holding her hand and mouthing the words and positively lighting up when his favorite parts are close.

"You're not paying attention," he observes, and she shakes her head furiously.

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not," he counters.

Her stubbornness is broken, and she sighs in defeat. "Sorry."

"No, you're not." He's smiling.

His cheeky response earns him another eye roll and a soft shove on the shoulder. He laughs.

He's been making tremendous progress, and the doctors estimate that he should be able to return home in a few more weeks. She's about to tell him about the Bellas when there's a knock on his door. They both turn. It's Dr. Mitchell.

"I'll be right back," she tells him, and he nods.

She's been ignoring her father's calls, which is probably why he's at the hospital right now with this more-than-angry look on his face. She walks over to him and leads him into the hall, turning to face him when they're a safe distance away from Jesse's room.

"Beca," he greets her shortly, and she knows she's done something wrong. Of course she has; she hasn't been going to her classes, she hasn't been answering his phone calls… she knows _something _is coming. She's just not sure what.

"Hey," she says, stretching the word out to last several seconds. "So, uh… sorry about not answering your calls…"

"This is more than you not answering," he sighs, "this is about you squandering your education for a boy you hardly know."

She recoils. "Excuse me?"

"You hardly know the boy, Beca!" he yells, "You've only been dating for, what, five months?"

"I've known him for over a year," she retorts.

"You're losing sight of why you're here."

"I'm _here _because you ordered me to be," she growls. "I wanted to be in L.A. I stayed because I found a group of people who I really care about, and that includes Jesse. What, are you saying I can't see him? That I have to focus on school?"

He doesn't answer her.

She laughs, shaking her head in firm refusal. Her eyes are wider as she says pointedly, "Not happening."

"Something has to change, Bec."

"Fine," she shrugs, "I'll work on my grades. I'll focus more. I'll go to class, and I'll get my grades up by the end of the semester." Words, words, words.

"And if they're not up by the end of the semester?" he arches an eyebrow.

He's serious, and now she's seriously worried. A few seconds pass before she responds.

"If they're not up by then," she draws a deep breath, "I'll cut something. I don't know what, but I'll let something go."

"All right," he relents, "but you really need to try, Beca."

"I will," she vows, and she means it. She'll try; she will.

She's not going to lose the Bellas. She's not going to lose her music.

And she's definitely not going to lose Jesse.

* * *

"So… I'm supposed to take orders from you?" he asks wryly.

"That's how this works, yes," she answers, not looking up from her computer. "Finish stacking the CDs, nerd."

"You're no fun," he frowns. "Your promotion has changed you."

She's about to come back with a witty remark when she pauses, looking up quickly. "What did you say?"

"I said that your promotion has changed you."

"You remember?" she stands up and walks over to him, hope in her eyes.

"I…" he trails off. "I mean, I remember that we worked together in the studio."

"Is that it?" she asks, her hope faltering.

His brow knits in concentration, and Beca knows she might be pushing it—hoping for too much. "Nevermind, Jesse," she sighs. "Go back to stacking CDs."

He hesitates, and she has to force a smile to show him that she's not upset. He falls for it, and she knows he's still not himself. He still doesn't remember her—or at least, what they shared.

And it hurts. It hurts her more than she thought it would. Watching him stack CDs, oblivious to her pain when the old Jesse would have known she was upset and wouldn't have left her alone until he found out why… it kills her.

So she silences this pain by immersing herself in her work and her passion. Her new relationship with Jesse is still a work-in-progress, but she isn't going to abandon it. She told herself she'd get them both through this, and she will. She has to. They'll come out on top; they always do.

She watches him out of the corner of her eye as he begins his daily chore. He's humming to himself and tapping the case against the palm of his hand, making ridiculously adorable faces as he decides where to file the album.

It's some obscure show tune; she's pretty sure of that. He keeps humming it over and over, occasionally throwing in a few small dance moves as he maneuvers down the aisle.

She shakes her head, concealing a smile as she watches him from the booth's window.

_Weirdo._

* * *

I'm counting this upload as the 2nd even though it's the 3rd here, but shh I haven't slept yet so it's ok. Technically, that means I've updated twice in two days. Which is pretty fantastic. (Don't get used to this; it won't last long.)

A bunch of you want his memory to come back, and I assure you that it will. It just takes some time. (Clearly, I'm taking a few creative liberties here when it comes to comas and whatnot...)

- Hannah


	4. The Miserable One

Wow this took a while, didn't it? See, I told you I couldn't keep it up long. In my defense, this fic took a mind of it's own and I had to re-plan some things. So yes.

I'm getting tired of adding disclaimers so I'm not gonna do that anymore.

**Warning:** This fic gets sad(der) before it gets better.

**Warning 2: **_Les Mis spoilers_ (sort of). I mean, it's called Les Miserables. Everyone dies. (There's a character death mentioned.)

* * *

"A movie?" he echoes.

"Yes, a movie. We could go see a movie, like… whatever's out now. _Les Miserables _is out, isn't it? You like that," she encourages him. "We could go out to dinner and then go see a movie."

She's been trying. Really, truly trying. It's hard. She's not sure she likes this whole "trying" concept. But she knows that she has to try because if she doesn't, she could lose him. So she devotes as much of her free time as she can to spending time with him. He remembers simple things, like his favorite color and his favorite movies and his favorite foods. He doesn't seem to remember his relationships with other people; Benji looked mortified when Jesse asked why Benji had a giant box of swords, and his parents looked heartbroken when Jesse asked why Mary called him "Froggy" (it was a family joke, apparently; Beca didn't know the details).

"You don't like movies," Jesse interrupts her thoughts with a knitted brow, and she smiles because he remembers this about her.

"But you like movies," she counters, jokingly adding, "and… I kinda like you."

"'Kinda?'" he asks.

"Sorta," she agrees with a definitive nod.

"I see."

"Do you?" she challenges.

He isn't able to keep up the façade for long, and he caves first.

"Let's go to the movies," she shoves his shoulder.

"_Let's go see the stars_," he sings.

"Oh, no."

"_Cowboy heroes, cops and robbers…"_

"Jesse, I swear to God…" she shakes her head warningly.

"Sorry."

So they go to the movies. She sits through three not-as-bad-as-she-had-anticipated hours, and by the end she's drying her tears with the sleeves of her jacket.

"The play was better, but the movie still does a wonderful job," Jesse comments as the credits roll. "I'm glad they got Samantha Barks for Éponine instead of Taylor Swift. She was in the musical as Éponine, you know. So she's perfect."

"Mhm, yeah," Beca's hardly listening because she's still trying her hardest not to picture Gavroche lying dead on the pavement. And then she's trying her hardest not to picture Jesse lying dead on the pavement. It's weird how she can go from being so blissful one moment and so emotionally distraught the next. She had thought that phase was over—that she wouldn't be having nightmares and daydreams (or are they daymares?) of Jesse dying. Jesse's recovering well, and she knows she has nothing to fear. He's alive.

But she can still see him lying on the pavement outside the restaurant, his eyes staring up at the sky and his whole body trembling.

_"Jesse!" she shoves the car door open and races to his side. She had come out to warm up the car; he was supposed to be right behind her. He wasn't supposed to be lying on the ground in a bloody mess. She shoves people out of her way and crouches over him, her heart pounding in her chest. She looks up for help, but someone is already speaking with an operator. The driver of the car is stammering her apologies, but Beca doesn't hear her. She's too scared to touch him—afraid that if she moves him she could make things worse—so she smoothes back his hair and tries to maintain composure. He smiles weakly at her efforts, and her face breaks into a smile. _

_"Stop that," she scolds, "the ambulance is on its way."_

_"I'm sorry—"_

_"Don't," she interrupts him and grasps his hand. "It's not your fault. You didn't see it coming."_

_"I should have looked."_

_"Yeah," she agrees, "that would have been the smart thing to do. Don't talk anymore, though. Just… save your energy."_

_"I…"_

_She can feel him slipping; he's having a harder time keeping his eyes open, and the words fade from his lips before he can finish them. His grip on her hand loosens, and she can hear an ambulance in the distance. _

_"Just a little longer, Jesse," she pleads, barely able to see him through her tears. "It's almost here."_

_She's guided away from him as the paramedics approach, and she crosses her arms tightly across her chest as she watches them move him onto a stretcher and carry him into the ambulance. She's warned that he could die, and she climbs into the back of the ambulance without asking. No one stops her. No one tells her she's not allowed. Because as soon as she sits down beside him, she's holding his hand and crying, and they let her because his outlook isn't too promising._

"Beca?" she can faintly hear his voice, and she moves her head to look at him. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she manages, "I'm just… I'm fine. You ready to head back?"

He nods.

And there it is again; the sign that her Jesse isn't back. He may seem like Jesse Swanson to other people, and he may look like Jesse Swanson on the outside, but he's not the Jesse Swanson she knows.

She just wants him back. That's all. No more, no less. She wants the Jesse who knows when she's distraught, and she wants the Jesse who knows how to make her feel better.

* * *

"This isn't good for you, Beca," Chloe frowns.

"We're fine," she sighs, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"You're tired all the time," her friend argues over Skype, "you're working so hard to keep it together, and it's tearing you apart. It's not fair to you."

"It's not like he isn't trying."

"I know."

"He _is_ trying."

"I know." She pauses. "And how is that coming?"

"Well, you know…"

"Beca."

Beca avoids answering, and she knows she's been caught. She likes to pretend that things are easy with Jesse, and she especially likes to pretend that his memory (or lack thereof) isn't affecting her. She steels herself against the initial pain and lets it hit her later which, in the grand scheme of things, probably isn't the best way to deal with the situation. But it's better than any other option she had considered.

"I really like this guy, Chloe," she says after a moment. "I want… I want to make it work."

"You're exhausted all the time, Beca. You're overworking yourself. You're putting so much of yourself into this relationship and you aren't getting anything back."

"Not true."

"Really?" Chloe raises her eyebrows.

Beca hesitates. "I mean…"

"Have you… _kissed_… yet?"

"Chloe."

"I'm serious."

"I'm not answering that." Beca shakes her head.

"Because you haven't?"

"Because it doesn't_ matter_."

"So you haven't, then."

"I—that's… not the point."

"It's entirely the point," Chloe says.

They're both silent, and Beca stares off into space as she thinks. Chloe's right. Her relationship with Jesse the past few weeks has been entirely one-sided. Somehow, she had deluded herself into thinking that it could work; that she could fix him without hurting herself. But it wasn't working. It was emotionally tiring to love him and not have him love her back. He had always been there for her, loving her no matter what she did. He was so selfless, and she wasn't.

That was the difference. Maybe if she had been hit instead, things would be different. But she was the one left to mend their relationship, and she was royally sucking at it. She was skipping classes to spend as much time with him as she could, and she was still making little progress. She had told herself that this sort of relationship was healthy, but it wasn't. She was investing herself entirely, and he wasn't. Did this Jesse even love her? She used to think he did, but now she wasn't so sure.

She refocuses on Chloe, her mouth thin. "I gotta go."

"All right," Chloe nods slowly. "Everything'll work out eventually, Beca. You two… you're perfect together… but maybe you just need some space."

"Yeah," Beca agrees softly. "I'll talk to you later, Chloe."

"Bye."

"Bye." Her voice is a whisper, and she ends the call before she has a meltdown.

Waving her hands in front of her eyes and breathing deeply, she stands up and paces around her room. _Calm the fuck down, Beca. You're fine. He's fine. You're both fine. Nothing's wrong between you._

She shakes her head because she's lying to herself. Nothing's fine. Nothing's getting better. If anything, things are getting worse. There's something separating them—some sort of evil that's keeping them apart.

Even worse, she's not sure she _can _handle it. She had thought she could. But that was before she heard Éponine sing "On My Own," and before he, yet again, failed to recognize how upset she was, and before her conversation with Chloe. She had told herself she would be able to handle the one-sidedness of their new relationship, but maybe she couldn't, after all.

And it sucked.

* * *

"You were supposed to get your grades up, Bec."

"I'm trying."

"I know you are," he sighs, "but it's the end of the semester and they haven't improved enough."

"But they _have _improved," she points out, sinking back against the chair in front of his desk.

"We had a deal."

"We did," she nods, "and I did my part. I got my grades up."

"You're still failing half your classes."

"Not the important ones." She knows immediately that it's not the right answer, and she groans. "Dad, please."

"Bec, you know I wouldn't do this unless I had to. We had an agreement, and I've gotta keep you to it."

This decision was supposed to be hard for her. It was supposed to be the worst decision of her life. But it wasn't. It was incredibly easy, and it terrified her. The only reason she was hesitating was _because_ it was so easy. Because she hated that it was such an easy decision. She met her father's eyes with resolve, though her posture showed reluctance and pain.

"I know you do," she says. "And I'll keep my end of the deal."

"You will?" He's unable to keep the surprise out of his tone.

"Yeah," she nods once and stands up. "I'm breaking up with Jesse."

She begins to walk away, and Dr. Mitchell stands up quickly. "Bec, wait…"

"No, Dad, it's fine. Nothing's really… working. I'll be able to focus more on the Bellas and school and the studio… it's fine."

He doesn't believe her, but she leaves before he can get another word in.

As she walks down the hallway, her hands clenched in fists at her side, she wills herself to follow through. She loves the Bellas too much to leave them, and she loves mixing too much to give up that. And at one point, she loved Jesse more than both of those things combined. She still does. But it's become increasingly harder to do so. Love, she's learned, isn't easy. And whoever told her it was can go fuck themselves. She finds herself trying not to cry as she walks away from her father's office with Éponine's words ringing in her ears.

_I love him__  
I love him  
I love him  
But only on my own_

* * *

So. I'm not sure how I liked this part. I liked some bits. I don't like others. But here it is anyway, since I kind of owe you.

Not sure when the next part will be out. I have it started because I know what I want to happen, but we'll see.

- Hannah


	5. The Elephant in the Room

I just wanted to take a minute to say that I really, truly appreciate your reviews! I read every single one, and I keep meaning to reply to a few but... I have a tendency to get distracted easily. I especially would like to mention an anonymous reviewer named **Sheridan**, who said back in chapter 2 that I inspired her/him to tackle the art of fanfiction. That review means more to me than you realize, and I hope that you find it as fun and rewarding as I do!

And... without further delay... Chapter 5.

* * *

She knows she has no other choice. She told her dad she would, and she knows he'll make sure she keeps her end of the deal.

She could always give up the studio, couldn't she? No, she couldn't do that. Not with the freshmen interns running around cracking jokes the entire time. There was no way she could leave the studio in their hands. And she couldn't give up the Bellas because the Bellas meant more to her than she had ever thought they might. Their victory the previous year brought their group to the top of the A cappella world, and she couldn't abandon them now. The only thing left to give up was Jesse, and in any other situation she would have defaulted to the studio.

This dilemma had kept her awake for hours. She would stare up at her ceiling, groaning because she was avoiding what was inevitable—hoping that he would suddenly remember and she wouldn't have to let him go. She would laugh bitterly as she thought, painfully reminded of those instances when his gaze would wander from her. He had never done that before—had eyes for another person. But they would be in the quad talking, and suddenly he would look away. It was like he wasn't interested in her, and it _hurt_. She couldn't do this to herself anymore, she knew.

She can't pretend that things are working when they aren't; can't pretend that she is fine when she isn't.

She walks up to his door and knocks twice. There's silence on the other side, but she knows he's there.

"Jesse?" she asks tentatively. "Jesse, I know you're in there."

She can hear someone moving inside, and she smiles as the door swings open. There he is, in all his formerly-perfect glory, staring at her with sleep in his eyes. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and checks the time. Shouldn't he be more awake by now? He seems groggy, and she takes it upon herself to step inside. He lets the door close behind her.

"Hey," he says. There's alcohol on his voice, and she narrows her eyes. Had he been drinking? It isn't totally unlike him to drink despite his age, but it isn't a normal occurrence, either. Maybe he had been spending more time with the Trebles… which is good. She watches him as he shuffles back to bed, and she resolves to hold off on letting him go. She can't do that now, when he's hungover and crushing his face against his pillow and moaning about who-knows-what.

"You okay there, champ?" she asks him. He turns his face just enough for her to see one of his eyes.

"Tired," he answers, yawning.

"Hungry?" she asks sympathetically.

"Starving."

She knows his hangover food. Of course she does; what kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn't? It's macaroni and cheese—the ones in the shapes of _Spongebob Squarepants_ characters. She digs out one of the boxes from his closet, leaves to collect water, and returns within the minute. He's still laying on his bed with his face meshed against the pillow, and she can't help but laugh. She puts the macaroni in the microwave and sits down at his desk, folding her hands in her lap and spinning around in the swivel chair.

He looks up, surprised. "Macaroni and cheese?"

"Yeah," she nods sheepishly.

"What kind?" he's testing her. Does he not remember that she knows him all too well?

"_Spongebob Squarepants_, you goof." She rolls her eyes.

"You're the best," he sighs and sinks back into his pillow. She leans back against the chair and nods knowingly. When his macaroni is finished, she finds a bowl and brings it to him.

"You're gonna have to sit up for this," she reminds him.

He groans and protests, but when threatened with the alternative of dumping the food out the window, he sits up and takes the bowl graciously.

"Thanks," he says with a mouthful of Spongebob and Patrick between his teeth. "You're so great…"

"Eat your food," she commands him like he's a child, and he obeys.

It's moments like these where Beca begins to doubt herself. She loves him. She even loves this new Jesse, despite the fact he doesn't seem to love her as much as she loves him. She loves him despite the fact that she's had to work twice as hard to be with him over the past few weeks. She _can't _give up on him.

And yet she has to, because she made a deal that she can't back out of. And because letting go of the other two options is not an option for her. She tells herself that college relationships never last; that she'll forget Jesse Swanson in ten years. She tells herself that this is for the better because she's hurting herself more than she's helping him. She tries to tell herself that this is her only choice.

Her mind is jumbled with a thousand different thoughts and two voices telling her a million different things. Stay with Jesse. Don't stay with Jesse. Drop school. Stay in school.

She knows she has to do this. And she will.

When he's done with his macaroni.

Maybe the space will do them some good. She needs a chance to catch her breath and not have to worry about Jesse all the time. She needs to get her grades up and get the Bellas in line and work out her schedule at the station. She has a mountain of things to do, and she realizes that her devotion to Jesse's recuperation has, in a way, hindered the completion of her to-do list.

She asks him if he wants to watch a movie. It's a test, and he fails when he says that he doesn't want to. The Jesse before the accident would have jumped at the chance (after the initial shock of Beca being the one to propose the idea of a movication). This Jesse responds that he isn't in a movie mood (totally un-Jesse like), and Beca's last thread of hope is severed with the shake of his head.

"Can we talk?" she says it all too suddenly, and she knows he can tell she's nervous. That much, he can pick up on.

"Yeah, sure…" he moves to make room for her on his bed, and she sits down beside him. Looking over at him, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, biting her lip because she doesn't know where to begin.

So she decides to jump straight into it.

"I think we need to take a break."

"A break?" he asks.

"A break."

"From?"

"From…" she searches for the right word, only managing to come up with: "us."

"Oh."

"I just think that we both need some space. I need to focus on school or my dad's going to murder me, and you need to put all of your strength into getting better and remembering… things. And I feel like we're not helping each other. Not really. And it might be better for us if we just… took a break."

She hates that she's doing this, and, even more, she hates that he doesn't seem too upset. He seems more confused than he seems upset, and this strikes her as odd. Had he thought they were dating to begin with? She _had _told him they were dating… she stands up and heads for the door.

He grabs her hand.

"Beca," he stops her, and she looks back over her shoulder.

"What?" her voice is harsher than she intends, and she notices that he cringes. Damn it.

"I'm sorry."

Sorry that he can't remember? Sorry that he can't ask her to stay? Sorry for the pain he's causing her? It doesn't matter what he's sorry for, though, because he lets go of her hand and she flees without another word, pulling the door open with such force that she almost hits herself in the forehead. She walks down the hall and with every footstep she notes the lack of a voice calling her name and begging her to stay. Every step she takes puts another foot between them, and when she's across campus in her own dorm staring up at the ceiling in the ten minutes she has before class, she feels like they're on different planets in different galaxies.

* * *

All he knows is what she's told him: she's Beca Mitchell, his girlfriend. They'd been dating for a few months before the accident. They had known each other for a year prior to the beginning of their relationship.

But he didn't know why. She had this amazingly scary earspike and an alternative look that, quite frankly, was bordering creepy. She just didn't seem like his type of girl, exactly, and he had a hard time believing her even after being shown pictures of them together.

This whole thing was weird, honestly. His family pressured him to remember them, too, and he had to lie to spare their feelings. His roommate Benji would spontaneously burst into tears when he forgot his name, and things were just really difficult. He hated this feeling—it felt like he was causing everyone he knew this indescribable, overwhelming pain. And it sucked because he didn't know how to fix it. He didn't know how to make them better because the only thing that _would _make them better was for him to remember everything before the accident. But there was no way in hell that was happening, since he could barely remember little things like how to tie his shoes.

Jesse knows he should remember more about this girl. She seems so familiar, and yet he can't say why or how or who exactly she is. She's gone before he has a chance to ask, and the door slams shut behind her. He doesn't even consider following her because he knows that it would be no use. She's given up on him—given up on the idea that he could possibly remember who he was. And he supposes that's to be expected, but he can't help but feel betrayed and lonely and a little confused.

He had been assured that she wouldn't leave him. That no matter what, they would work through his accident together. Yet here they were, apart. And he couldn't do anything about it because he couldn't remember why the hell she meant so much to him. He swiped at a stack of books on his desk and drew a tiny bit of satisfaction from this act as they fell to the floor. He smiled emptily as they formed a crumpled heap. Then, something caught his eye.

On the floor beside his desk, buried under a few papers that had scattered with his sudden burst of anger, was a small, stuffed elephant. The fur of the elephant was—well, for one, biologically inaccurate—soft, and he pulled it from the wreckage and cradled it in his hands.

He remembered.

This was Beca's elephant—the elephant he had won for her at a silly carnival the school had thrown a few weeks before the accident. The stuffed animal probably wasn't worth more than fifty cents, but something told him that there was more behind the elephant than he was remembering.

He smoothed the elephant's ruffled fur, placed it on the edge of his desk, and stared at it as if hoping it would grant him the ability to remember everything he was losing.

* * *

So... this fic took on a mind of its own (as most of my fics do). We'll see how this goes.

It's funny because you can tell that I didn't want to write Beca breaking up with him because Beca stalled with it, too. I don't like keeping them apart, okay. It hurts. Hopefully it won't be too much longer. (Like I said, my fics like to take on minds of their own.)

- Hannah


End file.
